Things That Go Bump in the Night
by Riona Winters
Summary: Dark, mystery and suspense. What more could you want to know? When I got an itch, I scratch it. You all reap the benefits. Cover image is by DeviantArt artist g672 their art is phenomenal .
1. Night Terror

A/N: Just a One-shot. Scratchin' the writing itch. As always, we'll see where it goes. Originally I was going to just write it and forget about it on my hard drive buuuut, y'all have been too good to me for me to disrespect you like that. So I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own the plot and the words, but I do not own Sarah and Jareth.

* * *

Waitressing was not a glamorous job by any stretch of the imagination.

Waitressing at the local pub where every Joe Shmoe felt he was entitled to make lewd comments or steal a quick grope was even less than that. If truth be told, Sarah felt she was little more than a glorified whore when she worked at "Charlie's".

Sadly, said job paid the bills and she was in no position to argue with that. College tuition was taken care of through her loans, but rent and living expenses were not and in this college town, you were lucky to find a position at all. Most were already filled by more eager students who were simply happy to have a job.

Sarah huffed out loud as she came to a stop at the doorstep of her place. She dug for her keys in her black leather purse, frustrated when she didn't feel them right away. She heaved the pure up on her shoulder a bit more; the straps were so worn through that she had to duct tape them in order to keep them together. Her hand touched cool metal and she grabbed at the noisy trinkets. The wind had picked up to near hurricane-like speeds and she really wanted to get inside before all hell broke loose. That would be just what she needed after a night like this.

Her dark hair whipped around her face as she shimmied the lock a bit, trying to fit the poorly welded key into the well-used hole. After a few moments, the key when in and she turned it; nothing happened. Sarah groaned and rolled her eyes before positioning herself so she was parallel to the door then, leaning back, she slammed her right shoulder into the stiff wood a few times before it finally gave way. Sarah stumbled in to her shabby studio apartment, her worn-out purse slipping from her shoulder and landed with a muted thump on the floor. She gave it a satisfying kick across the room, not caring that its contents had no problem spilling from its belly as it skidded away from her.

With another grunt of irritation, Sarah grabbed the handle of the door and with a hard shove she closed it just as the first crack of thunder met her ears. Placing her keys in her pocket, Sarah turned the deadbolt and slid the chain lock in place, and then after a moment's contemplation she kicked the warped wood hard, another satisfied grin leaking onto her features as she did so. If she wasn't so positive her landlord wouldn't give a crap, she might have complained; but for now, kicking it would do.

"My, my…what did that poor piece of wood do to you to warrant such abusive behavior?"

Sarah spun around so fast she had to close her eyes from a dizzy spell that threatened to unbalance her. When she opened them again, no one was there. She mentally slapped herself when she realized the lights weren't on. She reached to her right and flipped on the switch. Fluorescent light flooded the tiny space but still, she saw no one. Sarah wasn't fooled. Her eyes darted to her left where she saw her umbrella leaning innocently against the wall. In a quick movement, she snatched the thing up and held in front of her like a flimsy sword. It wouldn't do much good, but at least if whoever was here charged at her, she could take him by surprise and open it in his face while she made a mad dash.

Sarah's eyes fixed on the bathroom door, and then shifted to her cell phone lying helplessly on the floor ten feet away. She had three options: grab her cell phone and call 911, attempt to wrench open the damned door and make a run for it (with no wallet or phone and in a record-breaking storm) or confront her would-be attacker that was (she was sure of it) hiding in the bathroom waiting for her to look for him.

The decision was easy.

"Fuck this," Sarah turned around, dropping the umbrella and put all of her focus on getting the stupid door open. First the deadbolt, then the sliding lock and finally the handle. She made quick work of everything and had her hand around the doorknob when—

"Tut tut, that won't do,"

She yanked hard – the door didn't so much as groan in protest like it normally would have. Her heart-rate sped up and she tugged even harder. The door handle snapped off. Sarah stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end and her stomach dropping out from under her. That was it – she was done for.

No! She wouldn't give up without a fight. Sarah clutched the brass knob in her right hand like a bludgeon while her left hand discreetly felt in her pocket for something useful. She found a bobby-pin and her apartment keys. Fine. She'd scratch his eyes out then hit him with the blunt object and pray he'd black out.

Sarah briefly shut her eyes and took a steadying breath before she spun around in a blind rage, lashing out like a trapped cat at her foe. First the keys, which she aimed at his face, followed by the brass knob – which she aimed at his temple. Neither hit their target for both her wrists had been caught in a hard, vice-like grip. She could literally feel her pale skin bruising under her captor's strength. Her hands were beginning to feel a little numb as her vision cleared of the blind rage, but before she could focus on the man before her, another loud boom sounded and the lights in her apartment flickered then died.

* * *

Ice cold dread crept through her veins, freezing her muscles and paralyzing her lungs on its path to her brain. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, and could barely breathe. His hands, which felt oddly leathery, still gripped her fragile wrists in a hold that she doubted even Arnold Schwarzenegger could break. He squeezed harder and she groaned, the door handle, keys and bobby pin all dropping from her numbed grip and to the wood floor with a loud bang that was covered by a convenient clap of thunder.

"Ahhhh," she whimpered, slowly dropping to her knees in a weak attempt to loosen his hold. He let go and she clutched her wrists to her chest, trying to rub circulation back in to them. Her lip trembled at the throbbing pain. She looked up at the imposing silhouette standing before her. She felt her heart move to her throat when she saw how tall he was, even from her position on the ground. Just from what she could make out of his build, she knew he'd overpower her in an instant if she tried anything.

Sarah tried to swallow but her throat was as dry as the Moab desert. Unlike the rest of her, her brain was working furiously to find an escape route. Sarah considered herself a strong and clever woman; one that the average attacker would not be able to outsmart – but this man was no average attacker, of that she was sure. Any move she'd pull from her self-defense classes she was sure he'd counter.

"You are wise to notice this, my dear."

Sarah started at the sound of his voice. It was like he could read her thoughts. And was that a British accent she detected?

Her assailant chuckled a low, baritone note deep in his chest as he lowered himself to her level. He was so close to Sarah that she could feel his body heat. She tried to discreetly back up.

"Ah, British? No, although easily mistaken for," he said.

Sarah froze in her movements_ "What the fuck? He _can _read-"_

"Language, my dear, language," his voice was low and smoother than a Jazz player's saxophone. Sarah's head snapped up to look at him. It was so familiar…

A flash of lighting and she saw parts of his features. High cheek bones, an aristocratic nose, blonde hair and one blue eye, one brown eye...

"No…" her voice did not sound her own as it left in a rush from her parched throat. Chuckled again and she brought her arms to her chest as if to shield herself.

Another flash and she saw his bow-shaped lips were upturned in a half-smirk, half predatory smile. Sarah instinctively backed up until she hit the door.

_ "That was a dream - I was young and in love with fairytales…it was the mental manifestation of my obsession, that's all. This can't be happening, he isn't real…"_

Jareth stepped forward, enjoying her internal debate with herself. Sarah tried to shrink into the door, but there was nowhere to go. She was the trapped cat from moments ago, only now she wasn't the cat, but the mouse that was toyed with by the cat before it ate her.

"Oh, I assure you I am very real," the dark prince said, reiterating his words by placing his gloved hands on her thighs and inching them upwards.

His touch, although clearly lethal, was light as a feather as he brought them to a stop where her legs met her pelvis. Her breath hitched and renewed fear blossomed in her stomach when her mind darted to what he might do. But to her immense relief, he merely took them from her legs and placed them, rather, on the door on either side of her, truly trapping Sarah in his arms. He leaned forward, studying her features even through the dark. His breath was warm as it fanned across her face.

"Wonderful thing the human mind is; capable of blocking truly horrific or truly fantastic events from memory, passing them off as distant thoughts or dreams," Sarah flinched when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear so better to see her face.

Suddenly memory after blocked memory escaped from the vault that she'd held them in and flooded her mind's eye. She shut her own eyes tightly. Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus, Ambrosias, the Goblins, the castle…Jareth…

"That's right, dear Sarah, remember…remember everything," his voice turned cruel and mocking. A single tear escaped her clenched eye and Jareth leaned forward, slowly brushing the salty liquid away with his thumb, ignoring her wince.

"Did you think that you would beat my Labyrinth and walk away, little Sarah?" His silver tongue was poison to her ears Did you really think that my kingdom crumbled and washed away into nothingness? Did you really think that _you _did all _that_?" His voice spit fire. "I am a king, little Sarah, and kings are not defeated by a silly girl's whims and fantasies." Sarah tried to quell her trembling body but stubbornly kept her eyes shut. Maybe if she never saw him, never _fully_ saw him, then he wouldn't be real.

Jareth was growing tired of her childish grip on reality. With a wave of his hand, the lights in the apartment were forced back on despite the raging storm outside. He held her chin in an iron grip and forced her head to turn to him. "No, little Sarah, what you remember happened those many years ago is not what _I _remember. What your mind has conjured up is not the truth," he snarled. "And now, I have come to claim what you thought I lost years ago. I come to claim what is rightfully mine," His voice was deathly quiet. Sarah felt his grip tighten on her chin - he didn't need to tell her with words; it was clear enough by his actions.

Sarah had no choice but to open her eyes.

Jareth's lip lifted in a horrible combination of a victorious smile and a disgusting sneer.

Then he swooped in and crushed his thin lips to her trembling ones in a bruising, dominant kiss that seared her heart and mind.

_You are mine, Sarah._


	2. Scripted Words

The usual statements and disclaimers apply. Although I decided to continue what I started and see where it goes. Perhaps I will make it a personal challenge.

Enjoy.

* * *

Sarah woke with a start and drenched in a cold-sweat. A loud, alien noise was drifting in from her window along with…streaming sunlight? _What the…? _

Sarah blinked.

She bolted up-right, her brain was screaming warnings at her, broadcasting that the abrupt change from nightmare to reality should make her edgy. A minute passed before her she became fully aware of her surroundings and that the alien noise was, in fact, a lawn mower – and the streaming sunlight meant it was morning. She spun around on her bed and took in every inch of her tiny apartment.

Her crappy door was locked, the brass handle _not _broken off, the lights weren't on and nor was the switch flipped up like it had been; her purse was still on the floor, its contents still scattered about including her damned cell phone – but despite all the evidence to the contrary, Sarah did not believe that last night was just a dream. Trouble was, she couldn't remember all the details – just parts of it.

It annoyed her that she could not make heads or tails of it.

The birds outside chirped like they did every day, but this time it was almost as if they urged her to see for herself that last night was a dream. So, despite her initial reluctance, Sarah stood up and slowly made her way to the small paned window opposite her bed and peered outside. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that a record-breaking storm with gale-force winds and Thor-worthy lightning had been through these parts. The sun was shining without a cloud in the sky, there were no downed power lines or tree limbs - there weren't even puddles on the street!

"…what the _fuck _happened last night?" She said to no one in particular.

The obvious truth was it had been a dream, but seriously…what the fuck? Sarah shook her head and ran a hand through her tangled brown locks, wincing and "owing" in pain as her fingers caught on the strands. Still trying to work things out in her head, Sarah dragged herself into her bathroom and opened the mirror to retrieve her tooth brush. She went over details as she did so – she got off work, walked home, battle with her purse for her keys, had her usual fight with the door, kicked her purse then the door…the lights went out at some point. But that was all she could remember. Well that and her fear. And the looming sense that someone had been in her apartment…someone she had known but had forgotten. Someone from a long, long time ago…

Sarah absently stared at her attire in the small bathroom mirror as she brushed her teeth. She had on a pair of worn cotton pajama shorts with superheroes patterned all over it and a tight-fitting green camisole that was scrunched up and showing her woefully pale midriff. One strap was loose and falling off of her shoulder, so tucking the toothbrush on the inside of her cheek, Sarah reached up to straighten it.

She froze.

Clearly imprinted on the white skin of her wrist were bruises in the unmistakable shape of a hand. A _large _hand. The red toothbrush clattered in the sink as it fell forgotten from her open mouth. Sarah started dumbly at her wrist projected to her from the mirror. Her eyes fell to the real thing. She held her wrist out in front of her, turning it this way and that, then she brought the other up as well. It too had dark, purplish marks on it in the shape of a hand. Sarah focused on the mirror beyond her hands and stared directly at her lips.

They were bruised and swollen with little nips and scrapes dusted across like random flecks. She tenderly touched them. They hurt.

Distantly she thought she heard a cruel laugh, then something moved in the mirror behind her and she turned around, her hands gripping the stained porcelain sink behind her for support. No one was there.

But there was a sealed roll of aged paper attached to her shower curtain.

With trembling fingers, Sarah reached forward and detached the paper from the plastic "Finding Nemo" shower screen.

* * *

_A fortnight is all the time you have._

_I will come to you and take what is rightfully mine, whether you remember or not. _

**_-J_**

* * *

The script was very Gothic looking and the "J" was like an old medieval illuminated manuscript "J" – elaborate and detailed. Sarah's heart pounded in her chest and she fought the black dots that threatened to overwhelm her conscious state.

If she wasn't freaked out before, she most certainly was now.


	3. The Countdown Begins

_Day 14 – The Countdown Begins _

* * *

"…and then after that, the squirrels pulled out light sabers and had an epic battle to the death. It was epic."

"Hmm, cool," Sarah said absently as continued to strip the dead bark from a twig she was fiddling with in her hand.

"Sarah? Hello? Earth to Sarah? Squirrels can't have epic light saber battles,"

For the first time in the hour they'd been hanging out, Sarah looked at her friend Clara, utterly confused. "Of course they can't Clara - what are you talking about?"

Clara frowned, more out of concern then annoyance. "You didn't hear a word of the story I just told you, did you?" She said, brushing her long black hair from her face.

Sarah hid her face and sheepishly apologized. "No, sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me today,"

"I do," said a loud, booming voice. Eric (an ex-high school linebacker and the Curly to their Larry and Moe) unceremoniously dropped down next to her and wrapped one oafish arm around Sarah's slim shoulders.

"Oh yeah? Well, please feel free to enlighten me because I've been asking myself that question for years," Sarah said sarcastically, allowing herself to be completely engulfed in Eric's bear frame.

"Yup – you need a good fuc-" A paperback textbook flying at high velocity stopped Eric mid-sentence. "Ow! Clara, what the hell?"

Clara looked innocently at him through her yellow, square-frame glasses and shrugged her shoulders as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Sarah on the other hand punched Eric in the kidney; though for all the good it did she might as well have tickled him.

"Okay! Okay! Mercy! Sheesh, getting beat up by a bunch of girls doesn't do a guy's reputation all that good, for your information" Eric grumbled, rubbing the spot on his collarbone where Clara's book hit him.

"Well for _your_ information, next time think before you speak like _that_ in front of a couple of ladiesyou over-sized idiot," Clara's voice was stern but she was smiling. She turned back to Sarah. "But seriously Sarah, what's up with you? You've been a zillion miles away all day,"

Sarah inwardly sighed at losing the distraction from her mood. "Yeah, sorry. Didn't sleep well last night," she plucked at a loose string on the hem of her long sleeved shirt.

Eric shrugged off his well-worn high school jacked and used it as a pillow against the trunk of the tree he was leaning on. "Geez Williams, our thesis isn't due for another six months – getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?" Eric dodged the second well-aimed punch to his kidneys.

"No, I just didn't sleep well; work sucked," Sarah finished lamely. She tossed the stripped twig aside and opted to pull out blades of grass instead.

Eric stiffened, his normally easy-going nature was replaced with a man ready to beat someone to a pulp. "Those assholes at Charlie's givin' you a hard time again? 'Cause you know I've got no problem coming in and roughing them up a bit…again,"

Sarah chuckled. "As much as I'd like to wipe the smirks off of their sorry, drunken faces, Charlie took out a restraining order on you because of what happened last time. You can't go within twenty-five feet of the place without being arrested. Sorry hun," Sarah brought her hand up and patted Eric's cheek in a mock-motherly fashion.

There was a sharp intake of breath followed by a "Oh, Sarah!" and the Sarah turned just in time to see Clara's horrified expression before her arm was roughly grabbed at the bicep and pulled up to Eric's eye level, her sleeve yanked to her elbow.

Never before had Sarah seen someone's features turn so dark so quickly as Eric's did when he laid eyes on her wrist. "Who…did this…to you," Eric's voiced was carefully measured as he fought for control over his anger (something Sarah was grateful for as she didn't wish to attract any attention).

During the course of the day, the bruises on Sarah's wrists had worsened, darkening to a sickly purple-blue and brow-yellow; a stark contrast to her otherwise pearly-white skin. Sarah tried to yank her arm out of Eric's grip, but she knew before she'd even tried, that it was no use. Meanwhile Clara had crawled over to them and lifted the sleeve of her other arm to reveal the bruises on that wrist as well; her usually smiling, almond-shaped eyes were crinkled in disgust at the sight. Sarah snatched her arm out of Clara's grasp.

"Don't look at me like that, Clara. And Eric, please let go of my arm. You're hurting me," Sarah said calmly. It took a moment, but Eric did as asked. His light grey eyes had turned stormy and he was seething.

"That's it, cops or no cops, I'm gonna teach Charlie's customers a lesson they'll never forget. If I'm lucky, I'll put him outta business," Eric ground out as he stood, his hulking body tense with anger.

"I'll hold, you punch," Clara bit out as she too stood - her small Native American frame even smaller next to Eric's beefy Nordic one. They both looked comical standing there punching their fists in to their palms, and if the situation had not been so serious Sarah would have laughed.

Before they got so much as a foot away, Sarah darted forward and, with a strength she didn't know she possessed, yanked both of them down so hard that they fell backside. Eric let out a "whoosh!" as he hit the ground hard, his head meeting the tree root he'd been sitting next to. Clara landed on top of him.

Both of them scowled at Sarah, "What was that f-" Eric began, but Sarah cut him off.

"Will you two _please_ knock it off and let me explain before you go trotting off to assault innocent people?" she hissed, conscious of the curious looks the three of them were getting from passersby.

Eric and Clara calmed, though marginally, as they surveyed their friend. "Thank you," Sarah said as she adjusted the sleeves of her blouse. "Now, for your information _I _did this - in my sleep, that is. It's part of the reason I didn't rest as well last night,"

Both of her friends looked at her disbelieving. It was a flimsy lie and she knew it, but she had no other option.

"Oh come on - I know I've told you this before," Sarah sighed at their identical looks of confusion. "Sometimes I have night terrors – I can't always control them and, well, things like this happen. It's normal," That part wasn't entirely a lie. She _did _have night terrors, or at least used to. She hadn't had them in a long time – it wasn't until recently that they'd surfaced again.

Although to be fair she'd _never_ had one that had produced physical harm to her person. And on top of that, she was pretty sure last night was _not _a night terror…no matter how much she wanted it to be. If only she could remember…

Eric and Clara cast sideways glances at each other and Sarah rolled her eyes. She appreciated her friends' concern, but honestly, this was getting ridiculous.

"Oh for Pete's sake, enough. I told you I'm fine," Sara grabbed her leather satchel and stood. "Now if you two will kindly collect yourselves and start acting your age and not your shoe size once more, you might be able to get to your last class on _time _this time. Mr. Edgerton won't like you both being late to class five times in a row in the first two weeks of school," she stated with a triumphant smirk. That last bit was enough to throw both Eric and Clara back into reality as they darted for their own bags then sprinted for their class with echoing promises of meeting up with her later. Sarah laughed and nodded as they rounded the corner and were out of sight.

Both Eric and Clara were getting their master degrees in English and had almost all of their classes together – she, on the other hand, only took it as a secondary master's degree and therefore only had a handful with them. Her primary master's degree would be in Philosophy.

Sarah sighed with a touch of relief as she turned around and headed for her own class. It would have been beyond bad if the two of them had made it to Charlie's. What she'd neglected to tell them was that if Eric was found within twenty-five feet of the pub, not only would he be arrested but Sarah would be fired – that wasn't something she could risk.

A flash of movement caught her eye and Sarah looked up. As she turned the corner towards her class she could have sworn she saw the flutter of a dark, gauzy material before it disappeared behind an oak tree. She shrugged it off as someone's windbreaker.

If she'd taken a closer look, she would've recognized it as the material from a long-forgotten cloak fastened to the shoulders of an imposing figure she'd seen only in her nightmares.

Nightmares she hadn't had in over a decade but were making a reappearance in her life.

* * *

Classes ended hours ago and Sarah was still in the library pouring over books on Philosophy, English and old literature. Her hungry eyes taking in every ounce of knowledge she could before the librarian shooed her off. Every night (well, when she wasn't working) she tried to quench her thirst for words and information she was deprived of in class. The library at her school had one of the largest literature and philosophy collections in the country and something she didn't plan on wasting during her four short years there.

"Miss Williams, the lights are nearly all out, students have left to do normal things like party and pot and I gave the last call for checkouts nearly twenty minutes ago – so why do I find you still here, barricaded by books? Did you think I wouldn't notice?" The voice of Ms. Pierce was a stern, unwelcome reminder that her time was indeed up. Sarah had to bite back a snarky reply.

Instead, she frowned and sat back. She opened her mouth but Ms. Pierce, the old bat, beat her to it. "I can't say I'm surprised. I never am with you – this'll be the third time this week you've made me late for bridge with my friends. Come on, I'll unlock the doors and let you out,"

"Aren't you going to offer to check out some of the items for me?" Sarah couldn't help the snotty comment.

"No, I won't. Seeing as I know the list of books you have checked out by heart there's no point - unless you plan on returning one of them, I'm afraid you've met your quota,"

Well. That shut her up.

Sarah grabbed her satchel and was about to scoot off the bench when a small maroon book caught her eye. She pulled it out from between _"Philosophy Through the Ages"_ and _"A Collection of Author's Notes from Old World Literature"_. She turned the small, thin book over and read the title "The Annotated Version of _La Labyrinthine_" – there was no author.

"Must be one of yours," said Ms. Pierce distractedly as she closed Sarah's books and piled them up to be re-shelved. "There's no barcode on it."

Sarah knew it wasn't hers, but if it wasn't the library's then whose was it? Sarah was no fool, however – even at first glance she knew the book was very old and if Ms. Pierce got a closer look at it she would change her story and say it was indeed the library's and that a mistake had obviously been made for it to not have a barcode on it. The old bat was greedy and would want it if for her collection.

"Oh, yes…I'd forgotten it was in my bag," Sarah said hastily as she (carefully as she could in such a hurry) shoved the book into her satchel before Ms. Pierce's hawkish eyes could examine it any closer. "Well, I'll just be off then. Have a good night Ms. Pierce!" Sarah finished. And faster than a rabbit escaping a petting zoo on Easter Sunday, Sarah was out the door and heading down the street to her apartment.

* * *

The nights were getting chillier, Sarah noticed as she walked down the familiar path to her apartment. She pulled her windbreaker tighter around her frame and hastened her strides. The street lamps were dim and the streets unusually quiet for the normally raucous college town. Hardly anyone was out and rather than make her thank the stars for the quiet, Sarah felt on edge.

To distract herself, she reached in her satchel to pull out the book she'd found earlier. Instead, her hands hit something soft. Frowning in confusion, Sarah grasped the object in her hand and pulled it out.

It was a feather.

But it wasn't just any feather, it was a long and sleek, gleaming white-gold feather; not something that came from a normal bird, she thought. She twisted the stem in her hand, twirling it around like one would an old-fashioned top, examining it under the dim yellow street lamp light.

Out of the silent night, there came a sudden hoot. Sarah's head snapped up in the direction it came from just in time to see a flash of bright white as whatever it was soared under a nearby street lamp and into the swallowing darkness.

She needed to get home. And so out of sheer instinct, Sarah dropped the feather and continued on her way, the feather left forgotten in a pool of muck that drained to the sewer.


End file.
